Tabled
by Greyella
Summary: An old photo is illuminated in the morning light, sparking questions. Bella is (im)patient, as the Death Eaters make a structural change. The Dark Lord offers his blessing, and certain things are no longer under-rug-swept or tabled. Dark side's POV leading up to the fall of the Ministry (Book 7). Rating is subject to change. Cissatrix. For mature audiences only (18 & up).
1. Can't Jump the Track

**Story ****Disclaimer: **All characters are of age. By continuing to read further, you confirm you are 18+. Femslash, blackcest, expletives, torture.

**Author's Note I:** This is a gifty fic for for the lovely _beforeyouspeak_. You're phenomenally important to me, dear. And it's always a pleasure to write for you. As requested, a Cissatrix.

* * *

_Tuesday._

In retrospect.

If Narcissa had wanted to hide, she ought have searched out any room but the main study. Bellatrix was unpredictably reliable and known to find equal appeal in books and bloodshed. Doubled, if any sort of combination could be reached.

In retrospect.

It had been the photo album. Hardly the domino, but certainly it was the placing hand. The groundwork had been laid many years ago, and many years coming. But if anyone were to put effort into supposing, then yes: this was the trigger that tipped domino.

The window issued dawn.

And by chance, she found herself in a reminiscent mood this morning. Cissa lazily flipped through 1960-something. They were so young. Her fingertips strained for those moments locked in page; dancing snapshots.

A photograph.

Sisters three in the common room. The blonde ached at Andy's smile, lilting their youth. And Bella's disdain crackling like fire. An old fondness for Snape crossed her dam. He'd been kind enough to capture this, despite his ornery self.

Another one.

The Diagon Alley fountain. Andy's fingertip smudged the corner (she'd never quite mastered the art of photospell). Fondly, the witch gazed at her long-gone but beloved pea coat, twirling gaily. Giggles forever caught in shriek as mischievous curls soused her, splashing Belled laughter. Probably with glee. Elation. Innocence. Or escape from horror at home.

Another.

Cissa shivered. Knowing it hadn't been Andy's hand this time; Bella's eyes were telling. Apparently the blonde had magicked this one at the annual Black holiday ball. She didn't recall spelling the moment. But she remembered the dress: her sister's silhouette poured distractingly into velvet. That familiar glint in the witch was softer then, but no less intense. Bellatrix. Her sister had always been a beauty. The best of their genes; the worst of their faults. The most confusing presence in Cissa's life.

Pages turned.

The madame paused at a photograph and found she could not leave it. Who the hell had captured that _particular_ moment? Cissa regarded their teenage selves. They stood apart, expressions written before the story. This, at the Hogsmeade docks, seconds after a spectacular splash into catalyst. Teenage Bella was wild, anything but hurt. Everything but okay. And still, after all this time, Narcissa couldn't identity the emotion behind her own eyes. Desolation perhaps. Or a cousin of fury. Andy would have known. Bella already knew. But that was a conversation Cissa avoided then. Still did.

Questions.

A breath.

She dominated the light-waves and rose from her floor cuddle. Hair on the scene and silence complimented the beams. They spilled crosshatches onto the wooden floor, lighting the grain with sunny days. The dust could be seen on air; specks like fairy in the mid-morning light. Still in her night robes, Narcissa lounged in Lucius' armchair. She picked at the ostentatious leather, half-moon digs at a life half-lived. He'd blame the house elf later and she'd feel no guilt. They each had chains and hierarchical lots in life. And if Bella had taught her anything, it was to own your lots. And sod them.

All of them.

Cissa hummed, her thinking habit. Wordless sounds misplaced onto the voluminous tomes lining the walls. The notes were forlorn and set eerie companions next to the light. She rolled over her mind.

The docks. The docks. The do—

"Nice vocal, but you certainly can't dance to it."

The doorframe. Bella walked though the door unaccusing. Surprised, Cissy jerked from the album, startled heart grasping chest. Flittingly, Bella's eyes caught her vulnerable before the blonde scattered. The book fumbled out of the witch's grasp and sprawled open to floor. Perturbed, the blonde ignored the disorder. Night skirts followed nervous legs to the window and the stupid trees there out. Incidental magic and the glass pane vanquished. She could smell the shrubbery.

Primroses.

Bella trod as she always did; tanks on a road.

"Why, dear, I ought introduce myself." Lilting tones mocked, inflecting bouts of sarcasm. "It's half of noon! Certainly the _great _Narcissa wouldn't be caught living in house robes? She'd think it unseemly. So do tell: who are you and where _have_ you buried her?" Amused aural slicked the room. And Bellatrix leaned against the doorway, lazy in support…much as her brows.

Cissa avoided at the sill, pollen tickling her nose and growing emotion. Her elbows locked, fingers dead-gripped. Starry heels clacked, swagger oddly tentative, if sound could be so. Telltale rustles wisped to floor and Narcissa's lashes fluttered…knowing the intricacy of those skirts.

"You never did understand the open-shut continuum of books." Bellatrix scolded, saving the sacred and felled album. The crackle of magic undulated, smoothing out rumpled corners. Cissa tingled at the ripple effects. It felt intimate.

"And you've never abided my need for headspace. I told you I wasn't to be disturbed." Disinterested affect. It was all the blonde could manage, without letting self out.

"Yes, because I do sooooo well with tellings. To be fair, Flower, you never indicated a time constraint. Would you rather I left you to your petulance then? To perish amongst projectile parchment?" The witch scoffed. "And here I thought you had some litany of emotion for me to unravel."

Narcissa sighed, feeling urge to bang her temples.

"But if you're going to be boring and avoid eye contact, I'll go burn something else of Lu-Lu's." Bella considered task happily. Though undertone of concern dwelled and dawdled.

Despite herself, Narcissa's mouth twitched. Bella had a ridiculous way about her that softened even the worst of Cissa's sulks. As if sensing the capitulation, Bella-boots thudded attack against some wall (the dulcet noise of home). Then the sound of lieutenant plopping into vacated chair. Cissy knew those legs dangled power over its cushy arm, like deviled childhood. Such was Bella. She went with consanguinity.

"Like you have any right to criticize at all. I clean up your emotional messes on the regular. And yours tend toward bloody." The socialite bolstered her own brand of chastisement.

"No, you tidy. It's not my fault I don't like my edges rounded off."

A page flipped. Toes wiggled.

"Meda looks like a fat pumpkin in this one." Pale fingers took care not to touch the lost sister's face. "I'd forgotten how delightfully dreadful she looked that night."

The _name _stilted in Bella's mouth, thirty-something years out of practice. But she had her reasons, despite the detestation. Cissa was reason. Yellow heart jumped and annoyed. Bellatrix knew which levers to press...when she wanted cider from sour and reluctant apples. Narcissa gave her ones best suited for cooking.

"Decades after the fact, you _finally _drop her name like casual tea? Truly, Bella, you've atrocious timing." Cissy felt this was a moment well ordained for petulance, one at least three decades in the making.

"Oh don't be so dull," Bellatrix snorted from her throne. "Don't they always whine about better late then never? We practically live forever, witchling. Middle-aged indeed," Bella snorted. "And still we look thirty. But if you're going to be an ingrate, then it's only now and never again."

"You truly are a piece-meal thing aren't you? Axioms aren't meant as a personal challenge, dearest." Despite herself and their near immortality, Cissa amused, keeping her face toward the moor. Less verbal mocking from her warrior that way. In theory. Flower plucked wryly. "Pick this, ignore that. Wait thirty years. You skewer mantras right and left, Bellatrix Black. They_ also_ say: honor thy father and mother. And thou shall _not_ kill."

Somewhere in the back-noise, Bella muttered _Lestrange_…and about combining those two ideas.

"They also say don't be a cunt." Tone was flat; a Bella specialty, leaving the receiver with no social cues or script to follow.

Powder scraped under Cissa's nails as they dug into white sill. She absolutely refused to turn for _that_. Mostly because she wanted to. Bellatrix was simply going for regard at this point, anything to catch cerulean. Better to ignore. Better the windowsill need recoating. So though gaze did not, mouth moved.

"They absolutely do not say that."

"Meda always did. Couched differently, of course." Bella's voice was quiet; a young girl once again. Perhaps the simplest uncovered soul in ages.

Silence beat. Narcissa faltered. Body…mind wanting more of this person that Bella kept buried under cruel warlording. But hands managed to hold fast to sill, anchors lodged in sand. The breeze on her knuckles was too coaxing. And she fought to hold Bella to the creature she'd become: this warrior witch that kept callous close.

"Don't. After all this time, don't pretend you love her. Not for me." Narcissa couldn't have turned had she wanted. The past bore down on them. And feet might have been cemented to floor, for all the autonomy they had.

"If I do anything at all, Cissa-mine…it would be for you." Though across the room, it pressed emotion to the blonde's chest. Another one of those intangible times that sizzled between them, searing wordless resolutions to the soul.

Too much. So Bella broke it.

"The Andy-whore may be enemy, but that child was Meda. And ours."

Few remembered, but Bellatrix once adored their eldest sister (her cracked flowerpot ways and all). Perhaps still did, Narcissa wryly assumed. You know…under all the murder plotting and vitriol spewing. So part of Cissy soared. But it wouldn't last. Meda would go back to being dead in the afternoon. Still. Somehow it was a gift. Cissy let Bella give it, even if she protested. But the blonde added ribbons, baking an apple pie after all.

The photo. Meda _had_ looked rather pumpkin-esk.

"You charmed her skin orange," Cissa twinkled blue. "Halloween cheer, you proclaimed. If memory serves." Floating on happier times, the witch didn't notice that Bellatrix had traded chair for point. That is until it formed as hand on the small of her back and whispers in ear shell.

"And what memory serves you this morning, my pretty? I doubt it was squash related." The darkest sister was awfully practiced in the art of cajoling. "Come, little dawdler. Show me." Awfully practiced in many arts.

Bella guided her back to the album, now perched on the sill. A wave of hand and warrior witch replaced the glass. (And photobook no longer poised to faceplant into the garden five stories below.) Narcissa blockaded her thoughts, or attempted to. But she couldn't dam her trembles. Fingertips soothed her waist, lips rested on her neck. Waiting. Mutuality was an odd beast with Bella. And power plays were fluent between them, even in moments of genuine care. The blonde was never sure who held the upper hand or the illusion of such. But she knew the expectation. Bella had sacrificed _something _with Meda's name. And as story goes, Cissa would match, she would. Bellatrix asked. So the story went, wayward as it was. Bella's hand pressed hers into book cover. The carved leather was a texture suddenly foreign. And despite rational intention, Narcissa's fingers turned pages.

And stopped.

Misunderstanding which photograph, Bella's speech snagged oddly in the light.

"You always did fall asleep indiscriminately. _She_ must have snapped this...I never realized we caught it for posterity." Bellatrix chuckled mildly, something like dawn on her breath. But it was less wind chime and more night howl. But she caught the oddest look on Cissy's face, stuck between flush and surprise.

"I…n-not that one." So focused on the other photo, Narcissa had missed _this_ one.

It only made the discussion worse. Stupidly, the blonde gazed at her teenage self in the common room – fast asleep in her sister's lap. Hair spilling over black robes and hands. Bella's lips, full…and caught in a tender kiss upon her sleeping brow. Over and again on repeat. The lieutenant's eyebrow hiked, realizing Cissa had actually meant the photograph _below_. Catching its scene, Bellatrix nearly spat out her brain; even _more_ interesting. (Still. It didn't exempt Bella from enjoying her sister's reaction to the unexpected history.) Already, the socialite's spine stiffened — skittish and bolt ready, icy façade imminent. But Bella couldn't let this go. Not when the woman finally brought up _that_ day. She wouldn't make it easy. Serious topic, yes; but still there was fun to be had. Bellatrix wasn't opposed to multiple birds. Briefly, she enjoyed that only the windows were glass and not the entire manor. She threw her stone. A mild harangue, but it didn't quite disguise the song. Or Cissa's wide-eyes.

"Antonin Dolohov?" Bellatrix hissed menially.

And the correct photo was in play. She grabbed the book, open-faced, and spun the blonde about-face. Bella's finger jabbed at the preserved ridiculum.

"All this mood, because your knickers are in a twist over drab Dolly, thirty years past?!" Awkwardly, they both looked at the teenage boy, forever immortalized as sputtering in water. But Bella was pleased. "Dear fuck, tell me I'm hallucinating or dead." Incredulity garnished with disgust and a sly zest of pleasure.

Narcissa scowled and snapped the book shut on her sister's offensive hand.

"You're an utter harpy. I hope you know that. And you're abysmal at sensitive chats. I'd prefer furniture confidantes to this. Indulge my adolescent self and attempt at being human."

Bellatrix tossed the tome across the room, enjoying irony. It cracked against a bookshelf and dislodged a set of pompous Latin dictionaries. Cissa muttered something about hypocrisy and doubted the furniture would take her after that. Bella was less flippant.

"And books double as right good Frisbees. Let's _do _play this truth game some more." The warrior paced parallel to window, thinking with walk. Her barefoot whimsy riffed with wry, tendu-ing floor with frappe tendencies.

Cissa watched Bella's bodic— mind work. She felt exposed, having avoided this moment for too many years. But blonde thrilled all the same; confrontation with Bellatrix was an addictive thing. Amongst trademark sashay, the dark witch came to some conclusion and her trek stilled at Cissy's side.

"Why bring this up now?"

Cissa's breath was shallow in parting silence. Onyx bore into cobalt and found some riposte among skittish orbs.

"You…" Bella's hand rose, cupping jawline. "Just you. My little idiot." Knowingly, the pitch witch found skies smashed shut. What Narcissa couldn't see, couldn't be real. Bellatrix knew the world and her sister had a complex relationship. But the warrior had much practice at making the witch real. Her thumb coaxed fine bone structure (as it struggled to maintain its haughty).

"I don't want to talk about it." The blonde shook her head, mutters meeting palm. She bit her lip. Dodging.

"You didn't want to talk about it _then_ either, darling. Not that week. Nor year. You instead flunked your Divination exam and accidentally spelled Parkinson into the lake…nude. And while fabulous reactions, I think I've been quite gracious in giving you several decades to process. Your loan's come due, dearie. Pay up. _That_ or you owe me a favor. And you know how…fun I can make those." A rakish grin regarded her sister.

Grimace washed Cissa's jaw, recalling the last "favor" owed to Bellatrix. There was a reason Lucius had banned rabbits from the house. (Don't ask about the original circumstances; Cissa had stricken that from her mental records). Though the socialite must admit: she now had a lifetime's worth of blackmail against her husband. (Unintentional bestiality will do that.) Of course, Bella made sure to work the phrase "horny as a funny bunny" into every conversation within his earshot. It was slightly glorious and horrific. And while fun in her most crude and denied depths, Narcissa was not keen to add another notch to her schadenfreude bedpost. Or perhaps this question was just overdue. Either way...

"That day on the docks. Why did you kiss him?" Words unbound from Cissa and blue flashed, stuck on familiar coals. They burned back as honesty. Inches closed.

"I was horny and he was too stupid to ditch me first. Take your pick." Bella tipped their foreheads together. Her croon knowing. "But I think the better question is why did _you_?" Bellatrix rasped, throaty searching cerulean for understanding, knuckles stroking porcelain cheek.

And there it was.

They stood embraced at the window. The ends of the morning light cloaked them in sincerity. A free hand crept up Narcissa's side and checked itself on hip. Fingers playing on curves and patience. The blonde's mouth opened to silence, unable to even gasp at their proximity. Cissa's chest thumped timpani and Bella dropped a kiss on the corner of her mouth. Too lingering, lips pressed the kernels of Pandora's box at their crease. Words were raspy, scented with a lovely vibrato.

"Apparently you require thirty and change. Take the week, Flower. And count your earnings."

The witch lingered upon her face, furious mane and all. Lips brushed again, too chaste to offend. And again. Softer. And again. And again. Cissa met her, equal parts eager and undefined. Bella didn't mention the delicate hand that tangled in her curling depths. She didn't mention as they brewed oddity and pause. But she did pull away, letting their bodies loiter too near each other, pulling breath from the same space. Cissa opened to speak. A pointed finger stopped her.

"Only when you know, dear. In the meanwhile, revisit time. And what I did _after_ you kissed him. And most importantly: _why_."

The warrior caressed the woman's cheek in goodbye and left quintessentially. Or attempted to. She purred, enjoying the curve to curve.

"And do dress dear; your nipples are too fetching. And I'm far too sure the Minister's lackey will agree. He's waiting in the parlor."

Cissa horrified several ways over. Bella scoffed.

"Oh don't get your rocks off, I wasn't _me_ when I received him. Your resident convict is still a secret safe. I'm insulted you think me that thick." The escapee soothed in her gruff way.

But the blonde felt too much and pressed worry into the crook of Bella's neck. Lips trembled fourteen years of herself and love into flesh. They didn't discuss the time apart. They never did. Bella held the woman, letting past hurt revive though they discussed the present. She stroked Narcissa's brow, silken locks…keeping them here and now. Lips promised anything frantic against that jaw. Their breath caught perfect nails in the brain and gooseflesh on the rise. Bella's hands were too perfect against Cissa's hips, mouth too like a lover's.

"I wan—

"Something about tea." Bellatrix murmured, neither of them quite ready for Cissa's understanding. "Or fees. Perhaps it was sleeze. Either way…" Bella looked the witch up and down, calculating the business of manipulation. "Wear the blue Millyon." Considering, Bellatrix linked their hands shortly and lifted Cissa's to maw. A cloud kiss. And she let go.

"Bella…" Cissa was hoarse as air replaced the space between, dense now, where fingers had housed. Her heart felt thick. But Bella left her…like Bella.

"He seems partial to silk and your cleavage." Daring eyes dipped, unabashed. And then curls strode out of the room, words drifting clear as the bold eyes that challenged.

"As am I."

And Cissa was left tharn, supported by the sill. Anything to escape her breath and Bella's depth. So remember she did.

* * *

_The Past._

They outed on the Hogsmeade docks.

Bellatrix kissed him.

The boy was idiotic, stumbling over Bella's every curve, every tongue. Weeks of this and rage had Cissa simmering. But then in misogynistic send-off, Antonin slapped Bella's arse. The dark witch rolled her eyes, enduring the imbecile. He had his purposes; she had won his support for the Dark Lord. And loyalty to her. If a month of kisses was the price, so be it. She wandered to the docks' edge to spell water games.

But Narcissa boiled over.

She lunged at her sister's boyfriend, lips first. Proving something. Hating everything. Hating her sister. Hating him. Hating him and him and his stupid face and his stupid hands on Bellatrix's hips all the time. Fearsome, she pushed all her ire into his mouth, tears streaming her face to river. Hating his eager response the entire time. As if any man would dare disrespect her sister. As if any man would lay claim to her Bellatrix. So the blonde kissed furiously, all bite no bark. Never mind it was her first. (Never mind for whom it should have been). And mid the illicit and ill-advised lip-lock (which he'd stupidly returned), Bellatrix attacked most strikingly with comfort and war. Arms snaked around her sister, and words armed.

"Get your foul hands off my sister, Filth, or I'll gut you where you stand." Bella snarled molestation and disembowelment. Love around Cissa's waist, anger in Dolohov's ear. "Don't you know better than to mouth the distraught?"

Before his lips were even gone, her hands soothed Cissa's face. Wide-eyed, Antonin shrugged out of the furious kiss, rightfully confused by the last ten seconds of life. Enjoying the fury on Bella's face, he assumed it was jealousy.

"She kissed me, Lassie." He recovered rather smugly, indicating the girl's hands about his neck.

So they were. But Cissa trembled, her eyes hollow and cave lost. Bella ignored the prop; he was merely mannequin. Gently, she removed her shocked sister, pulling those shaking arms back to home. Hands searched the smaller witch's face and found things. Bella's heart fluttered and she pressed short embrace to Cissa, whispering futures.

"Oh, Flower..." The girl refused to look at her. Bella soothed. "Go on, dearest. By the wood. Wait a tick tock. And then we'll…chat." She kissed salty eyes and softly prodded blonde toward the green wood, bare meters away. The witch watched, sure the girl made way. Reality found, Cissa backed to the shadows, finding some piece of tree to huddle and hug and horrify. Bellatrix fumed now, turning to her current dolt.

"My sister, Dolly? Truly you could have found better ways to piss off, without defiling my kin."

"She lunged! Did you expect me _not_ to catch her?" His voice rose, unable to discern her intent.

"With your fucking lips, Antonin?" She chortled sarcasm, (un)impressed by his gall and idiocy. Cobra coiled. Bellatrix held his hand and bode time. The bloody cretin. Comeuppance would come.

She felt Cissa's eyes hating, blue as fire.

"Odd duck, your Cissy." Dolohov cocked his head, seemingly unaware of the danger. A rakish grin and he pulled Bella close, figuring her smirk was forgiving. Large hands splayed her hips. Gravel at her throat. "But damn if she can't kiss." Dolly felt the snake of Bella's body and thrilled as the woman purred rumble in his arms.

Bellatrix let sins flood the mind, her sounds following desire. She thought of pink lips. Blonde between her legs. And then jealousy ran her over coals. Wildly incensed, the Slytherin forwent her wand and wrenched the fool off her. Boots howled onto his knees and hand struck the boy's face so surprised that he tumbled in the Hogsmeade stream, headfirst. And on the rocking docks, fury flung in Bella's every twitch. Malfoy and his friends doubled over, laughing at the unexpected shenanigans. (Later, Lucius would mark this as the day he chose blonde as bride. Fire was good in a wife. Just not Bella's kind of flame.) And Andy did what she did best: played lookout and scouted the outskirts of their party. A professor wouldn't do at this particular moment.

Boy safe and deposed in river, Bellatrix scowled. Absurdly, he bobbed. Bellatrix turned, curls whipping in the water-wind. Cissa burned bright. And across the way, the two sisters quite stared at each other, while the sputtering imbecile resurfaced in the river. He made a vulgar gesture.

"Fucking bit—"

"I'd think twice about that, Doll-face," Bella amused and sneered down from the dock. "Lest I sic her on you again. On that note, I suggest you find your fucks elsewhere." She flung a good-natured hex at him and cackled as he swore in the water.

But the man-boy grinned. Such was the way amongst her boys. Each understanding she was too fierce to hold down more than a month or so. Such was the end of the short-lived fuckfest between Bella and Dolohov. She didn't worry. Cronies were close and could take care; Bellatrix would make sure of it. Full amends would be made later. She'd requisition him a whore or something – Dolly was too good an ally. But Cissa was her current intent. To wrap up then. The witch nodded order at Lucius. He was newer to their circle, but valued. A strange event as the blonde man drew to her and caressed her jaw fondly. His lips amused, unwelcomed on her throat. He embraced the fury.

"Lucius take your prick off my shit, or suffer Dolly's fate." She slapped his hands away, growling. Wand drew.

"But you and I are going to be friends." He silked, still chuckling. "I think I'll need help wrangling your favorite sister." Malfoy was no more inclined in her eyes at this. Less so, more likely.

"You're to marry her, Foe, by that fiend-look in your eye." Bellatrix shuddered dislike, already knowing he'd win over her sire if he had aim to try. Which he did.

The boy sneered.

"Your sister will make the better wife." It was truth. "But it's not as if exclusiveness is important in pureblood marr—" His words cut off as she pulled him close. Deceptive lips caught his ear and her hand gripped his groin. He moaned. That is until she squeezed and twisted painfully.

"I'd rather fuck a pig than my future nibling's sire. No no, Lucy," She clucked, eyes flashing as he squeaked. "You and I will be anything but friends. And if I ever catch you stepping out on my Cissa, you'll wish you'd never had cock to begin with." Faint panicking sounded from the river. "Go. The sod seems to be sinking." She released him.

Wincing, he'd gone. No less inclined toward the youngest black. Slightly more impressed by the middle. Idiots dealt with, Bellatrix let herself emotion. Eyes searched for her sister. There. She ached awful in her marrow, pleased-not-pleased at the series of recent events. The girl huddled by the crease, where the wood began, crouched and confused in foliage. Bella made haste to the balled figure. And plopped beside the girl.

"Bella." Narcissa was whisper, hoarse and walking.

"Cissa-dear." Bellatrix dragged out tone, asking for explanation.

Navy eyes wracked Black with distress and apologies, lack of regret, and babbling.

"Bell, I'm sorry, Bella. So sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-not-sorry…so sorry…." On and on the words panicked off Cissa's tongue, hands gripping her gold plaits, trying to tear out emotion that carved her chest.

Too raw, too bold. Too fast. And Bellatrix felt Cissy's accidental magic amp the air, aiming to snap wandless whip. Lest the girl take out the entire waterfront, Bella frantically embraced the witchling, pulling the girl to corset sanctuary. She weired the storm: arms locked around Cissa's ribcage, holding firm. Knowing the need to explode far too well, lips found raging temples. Whispers soothed the emotive salt and shakes. A little time, pressure…love. And the girl's sympathetic nervous system calmed bit by bit. As did the magic. The air still sparked, but mostly in petulance of losing destruction. But danger was averted. So between narrow hiccups the blonde attempted speech, now manifoldly contrite.

"For-g-give me, B-b…I…sor—"

"Hush now hush, little idiot. I know you're sorry not sorry." Bellatrix murmured a half-wry without bread purpose. She clung to blonde strands, worried they might melt away. Narcissa exhaled demons and let herself find home in her favorite kin. Body lost its rigidity of panic. And she relished the fingers stroking her hair and Bella's skirts housing her sudden oddities.

"We need to work on control." The understatement tickled fate. As did Bella's chin, high atop gold and ambiguity. Atop the apparent issue — unresolvable and mutual. Ruffled, Bellatrix defaulted. "Would you care to elaborate in words what just happened, or is lip service your only method of fray?"

"Oh shove off." Narcissa snarled. Nothing like accidental magic, undefined emotion, and sisters to piss off a witch.

Bellatrix felt the frown against her pulse and twitched; another fat tear splashed her clavicle. Ah. That would be anger. But she relieved in this; at least coherency saw fit to again grace the blonde's mental halls.

"I did. Or did you miss his impromptu cannonb— "

"He shouldn't have touched you like meat." Cissa dragon spat, teeth grazing rabid speech, hot against her sister's skin.

"Nor you." The Slytherin growled. Protecting.

Bellatrix rocked the prickly creature, faintly appalled that their attraction was mutual (even if still undetected by Blonde Party of One). Or rather, Bella knew she ought be appalled. Still a tired smirk pulled, flattered at the chivalry however oddly delivered. Bemused, Bellatrix probed.

"And since when can't I take care of rude rubes myself, Flower?" Bella raised an eyebrow, turning her sister sheepish and red. She let the tomato grow. "But perhaps you and I need to discuss kissing and its — er — usual connotations, dear." She amused at Cissa's method of attack; Bella would have approved and given points for creativity, if only the girl's behavior had been intentional. "I've a mind to remind you that kissing ought be…somewhat from affection." But Bellatrix snorted. Her tone skewed, more than realizing she was the last person to be lecturing on the state of feelings and physicality.

"His tongue was gross. And his hands are grubby." Cissa made a face. "I don't know why I…why I ki— I don't want to talk about it." Words were lost, as much as unpinned emotion.

Bellatrix forgot to pull back the flirt.

"You will. And oh darling, someday I promise you'll find a tongue you like."

The air between them stilled. And Cissa was too aware of their hair falling together, like their breaths. Bellatrix wondered if it had been a mistake, or a water test she cast. Dark eyes held blues, flashing stars, promising small crimes. Narcissa's rationale had returned, leaving confusion in its wake. Embraced by the wood's edge, they'd stayed that way for a long while (hiccups and hums liberal in delivery). Embraced, until Andy found them…exasperated and scouted out.

But she had Bella and Dolly didn't.

* * *

_Here and Now._

And too many years later it occurred to Narcissa: it hadn't been his betrayal set in Bella's eyes, but something that spoke closer to jealousy. And the photograph was nothing less than a showcase: wild eyes sparking hate and love in strange directions.

Oh.

Cissa's eyes widened.

No.

It was only Tuesday. The week wasn't out. So Narcissa settled on _protection_. It had been a fierce display of protection, as older siblings are oft wired to do. Never mind that she'd been the fiasco instigator. Never mind the boy at all. Never mind this morning. The Nile remained a river in Egypt. And the room still smelled of primrose. The window had been opened.

And these automatic flowers wouldn't do.

* * *

**Author's Note II:** R &amp; R, my dears. Had fun messing with my usual birth-order headcannon. More to come soon — most likely a quad-metric.

(Credits: _Ani DiFranco_ – Make Me Stay, _Anna Nalick_ – Breathe (2AM), _Damien Rice_ \- 9 Crimes, _Our Lady Peace_ – Automatic Flowers, _Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street _[the Motion Picture Soundtrack (2007)] – Wait, _Wicked the Musical_, _Xena: Warrior Princess_ – The Bitter Suite (S3E12))


	2. We're Like Cars

**Author's Note I: **I so had fun creating their _Mors Morde _structure.

* * *

\- **Lord Commander in Chief:  
**Lord Voldemort

\- **1****st**** Lieutenant General of Company A and 1****st**** Vanguard, Lord's Hand:**  
Bellatrix Lestrange née Black

-** 2****nd**** Lieutenant Company A, Commander of 2****nd**** Vanguard:  
**Lucius Malfoy (Sergeants: Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Avery Sr.)

\- **2****nd**** Lieutenant Company A, Commander of 3****rd**** Vanguard:  
**Severus Snape (Sergeants: Nott Sr, Mulciber Jr, and Walden Macnair)

**\- 3****rd**** Lieutenant Company B, Commander of Reserve Company B:**  
Antonin Dolohov (Sergeants: Thorfinn Rowle, Amycus Carrow, Augustus Rookwood)

**\- 4****rd**** Lieutenant Company C, Commander of Reserve Company C:  
**Evan Rosier (Sergeants: Jugson, Travers, Selwyn)

\- **5****th**** Lieutenant Company C, Sector Regent:  
**Yaxley (Company Sergeants: Vincent Crabbe Sr., Gregory Goyle Sr., and Avery Jr.)

\- **Groveling Lackey / Spy:  
**Peter Pettigrew

\- **Unmarked Followers:  
**Fenrir Greyback, Dolores Umbridge, Scabior

**\- Associated Supporters:  
**Narcissa Malfoy née Black, Albert Runcorn, Pius Thicknesse, Mafalda Hopkirk

* * *

_Thursday._

The inner circle convened; a mix of sycophantic robes and hardened souls invaded the Malfoy dining room.

Bellatrix allowed boredom to overtake. While His presence was more than enough to occupy her attention, the current proceedings were not: Yaxley droned on with his weekly sector report. Last month, her lord had seen fit to token-promote the wanker to 5th Lieutenant. This apparently prompted inane prolixity from the dolt. The witch mused, wondering if it was against code to skewer colleagues for superfluous language. She wondered at Narcissa and found musings of sunshine pleasing. For lark under the table, she kicked Snape in the shins. Despite their happy and mutual loathing, the withering look eye-rolled in agreement: Yaxley was a bloody idiot. Even Rodolphus appeared put out. Bellatrix snarled, further annoyed that she and her husband had common ground in anything. Vexed, she took it out on the elaborate conference table, enjoying the crude-grooves her dagger carved. Snape returned the kick, sharply. Her discourse was knife throw, lodging the athamé centimeters from his resting knuckles.

"_Today_, Bellatrix."

Her head snapped. _Ah_. So Snivey's kick _had_ had benevolent purpose. His Lordship intoned displeasure, but held mild amusement at their juvenile antics. And her lack of attention. Fleetingly, she considered her Lord's favour was a lucky thing. Such allowances were a rarity for others. Too bad Snape benefited as well. Unruffled, she gave her district report. Talents flourished; what took Yaxley a candlemark took her seconds.

"Sectors 3 through 48 are well-monitored and controlled. 49 and 50 are supportive, unsurprisingly. Sector 1 remains troublesome due to the likely influence of Undesirables No. 4 and 5," she drawled. "But my Lord is well aware we've mechanisms in place."

Considering, the Dark Lord regarded his best protégé. Pithy, but she did him double service: wrangling the historically difficult districts and reinforcing his favour of her brevity. Pleased, the wizard's hand picked through air, his fingers plucking Master spell. The rare affection ruffled Apprentice curls. Though her proud countenance never folded, her eyes wilted; dying flowers. _Ah_. He'd been premature with praise. Still, he pleased that she was contrite at this. Sighing, he prompted knowingly.

"Do tell…"

Well-read of people, only Snape understood the sudden road sign. The rest of the crowd befuddled at the swerve. Save for Lucius who squirmed. Bellatrix's voice remained just as throaty. Just as blunt. She shot a dirty look towards her unfortunate brother-in-law.

"We've a slight breakdown. Sector 2 needs immediate…_managing_ due to internal incompetence." Her tone eye-jabbed and turned salaciously unkind. "By your will, my Lord, I'd rather fuck my husband than delegate future missions to this _peacock_." Sly innuendo and she enjoyed herself.

Rodolphus and Lucius were affronted, but the rest of the room merely chortled, well knowing her distaste for the man. Both men.

"This, on the grounds of potential murder, Master. You'd be welcome to…watch though." Bellatrix was ambiguous, matter-a-fact in their failure and her detestation.

Despite their enmity, Snape could very well appreciate her grace in mistake and entendre. He snorted, conceding her queer frankness was refreshing. Lucius fumed something awful and twitched toward wand, his temper close to snapping. Rod for all his dullness, let it go…but sulked, wondering if he was getting laid after all. The Dark Lord swung between rage and resignation, forever bemused that such a tiny woman packed a crippling punch.

"I have a hard time believing my high-rank lieutenants can't manage one measly cross-sector." Voice too calm, he sipped wine and fell silent. And waited for the hole digging.

Well aware of nuance, Bellatrix shivered in her seat, mum her words. Lucius was not so well informed and took the inopportune time to speak up.

"To be fair, my Lord, she was late and…"

"I don't care if she was mid-suck of a Thestral's prick. She's your superior and when she gives you orders you follow them, regardless of system breakdown."

Lucius had enough sense to avoid petulance and attempted something at shame. Bella gripped the table, martyrdom striking and patient in waiting. Order of command is order of command. And _she_ was the commanding officer. His incompetence therefore was her own.

"I hate incompetence, Bella…"

The _Crucio _was fast and sharp. Bellatrix took it as she always did, silently…half reveling, half dying. Despite fondness, the Dark Lord thought his apprentice was never lovelier than in these moments.

Restraint.

Pain.

Discipline.

With reluctance and pride he released her. Lucius was less appealing in spasm. And certainly less winsome with his pitiful squawks. As wand tortured Lucius, her chuckle was table sex in the throat; low, with remnants of pain clinging. Face darkened, she savored the idiot's punishment…far longer and stronger than hers. Her sounds sifted through marrow. Severus shifted, eyeing the table. Her. If his trousers were tight…then chances were everyone else tented as well. And while the debauchery itself wasn't unpleasant, he would rather Lucius canned his wailing pie hole.

"As _fun_ as this is, my Lord…the sector." Severus was careful to broadcast boredom and the perfect concern of immediacy.

As it was, Bella's lips parted too wonderfully. He hated the bitch, truly. But respected her power in all realms. It was a mutual thing. He supposed she was the best kind of colleague in that manner. The lording wand heard and ignored. The room kept its silence and sparks. Pitiful moans from the subpar lieutenant decorated the room. Making show of her lord's work, Bella kicked her feet up; the table her lounge and glinting eyes housing her approbation. But the potions master had point. So at last the Dark Lord decapitated his curse (but reluctantly not his ill-equipped servant). Collectively, they ignored as Lucius collapsed in his chair, twitching, his body doubled and drooling on table.

"Prospects?" The Dark Lord casually waited for damage control.

Bellatrix didn't disappoint.  
"Perhaps an element of surprise, my Lord. We ought restructure our companies." That quiet tone contemplated. Assured. Crafty.

"Go on."

He so did love when creativity struck her. Bloodshed and tenderness roamed his fingers and Nagini found pleasant hiss. The table shifted, catching blood on the air. Even Rod seemed intrigued. Vaguely, the Dark Lord recalled watching things called "films" in his youth. He was fervidly reminded why this was leaps better.

"Demote Lucy-boy…" She suggested. All eyes turned to the drooling lump eating table and found no complaint with the suggestion. "Move him to lieutenant command of the 3rd Vanguard; I quite think Severus has proven himself more capable to handle the lieutenant duties of the 2nd."

Snape blinked obscenely. It wasn't everyday his rival advocated for his rank promotion. Faintly, he was suspicious of her motives. He scowled, feeling an amused ping in mind, and regretted teaching the witch Legilimency in their youth. But then Yaxley seemed to have brains for a moment.

"Even so, Lestrange, that's just a command switch for our amusement, not a restructure." Yaxley sneered discontent. "We're just swapping bodies. How the fuck does that help us?" He hung between honest and demeaning.

Rosier snorted in agreement, but didn't seem opposed to amusement. Despite their odd hate-ship, Snape repaid her "kindness."

"You mean besides killing Malfoy's dunderhead effects and achieving world peace?" He drawled, checking his nails.

Half comatose, Lucius resembled the remark with a protesting grunt.

"My Lord." She waited.

He waited. The room shuffled silence that drew too long from well. She ignored and clarified effortlessly. Well, that is couched with nebulous language.

"I propose to strengthen the chain of command by appointing a special sergeant to the 1st Vanguard. Between the two of them, Lucy and Snivelus have six sergeants to pick up slack as needed." She let that sink. "The Reserve companies have three a piece. Yaxley doesn't even command a full company and _he_ has three." Her vexation was clear, even if tone was careful.

"You need _more_ man-power?" The Dark Lord was cold with warning. "Perhaps you're forgetting, but you already _have_ two 2nd class lieutenants and six of their sergeants under your direct command should you choose." He tested her argument's revolve. "Or perhaps women just aren't as well equipped. Should I have hired you as company whore, as Lucius so kindly suggested years ago?"

The gathered tittered and her eyes steel flashed. To her credit with Him, Bella didn't bite the bait.

"I _choose_ to alert my Lord when there is need. And believe me, there is…need." Playing all angles in the room, Bella's voice was far too wanton. But her face was earnest, legitimate timbre rolling.

And even the Dark Lord understood she had true structural concerns. Severus shifted uncomfortably, cursing Bella…and his cock. But damn if she wasn't delicious in anger. The witch raged carefully on.

"My Lord, we never expected the 1st Vanguard to expand beyond specialized assassin ability. But as it has more than quadrupled and taken on full company responsibilities, it would be advantageous to build in better command capability." Amused and tormenting the room, she reminded, "Or would you rather I continue as its sole goddess of whim?"

He ignored her latter. And eyed her fidget in chair. He started the count, waiting for the burst. She didn't sit still long. From the likes of her tapping fingers, it wouldn't be too lengthy a spell. Minutes at most.

"Those are the means, Bellatrix, but what is the end?" The Dark Lord had a shrewd business mind. And despite his favour of Bella, she'd have to present infallible reasoning.

"Oh there are many ends, my Lord, at the tip of my wand." Confidence and finger-tapping grew, emphasizing key syllabus. "But _I'm_ but _one_. And I don't think any of us_ fancies_ a repeat of the Department of Mysteries." Tap.

The room squirmed, recalling their Lord's wrath. The Master snarled but contemplated. That particular fubar had been a result of Bella's attention stretched too thin. Well, part of it. There really was no accounting for his other lieutenants – without her they seemed to grow stupid parts in the brain. Bellatrix was by far his most valuable human resource. Her loyalty and skills were without question, as was her commanding prowess in battle and personality. In retrospect, he agreed it had been a mistake to order Bellatrix on a recon-mission while simultaneously supervising Lucius in battle; she'd barely gotten there in time. Time enough to accidentally murder her cousin, but not to salvage the battle against children. Unpleasantly, he observed her quirked brow. A special sergeant _would_ circumvent the hole in their offensive.

"You want an assistant." The Dark Lord couldn't help but be amused at her point. Her gall.

"A sergeant." She reminded. "They would report directly to me or you…oversee the 1st Vanguard when I'm needed elsewhere." Bellatrix culled her winced, knowing this would either go very well, or not well at all.

"How is this different than making Lucius your bitch, which has been the current system?"

Snape spat out his wine, fully unprepared for the Dark Lord's more flippant side. It always peaked in odd times. Bellatrix cackled aloud and finally stood; her walk around the table was purposeful energy as she sought her Lord's side. On the way, she pointedly pit-stopped, grasping Malfoy's tail of hair. A tug and his limp head came with it.

"Exhibit A. The system only excels when the bitch actually works." With a grinning flourish she let go. A fun thud bounced forehead on the table. The idiot moaned and Bellatrix quite thought mutters of slur mixed in his breath. "And as you can see, that's working so _well_ at the current." She chortled disdain, scuffing her boots in trademark swagger. She approached the Dark Lord's seat. "While I detest having to give up my favorite divertissement, if we remain espoused to the current system I have serious disquiet about the command holes. A permanent sergeant could act as my hand and allow us greater flexibility."

Rodolphus found his balls.

"Yeah, that's really what we want boys, isn't it? To give the horny harpy more power?" Sarcasm or not, he stirred resentful truth amongst the inner circle.

The witch stopped approach short and snapped. Her wand level and aimed.

"I doubt _you_ could speak to my horniness, Husband. But I certainly could speak to your flac—"

"You're all idiots." The potions master had enough. "If you could focus on something other than her tits, you'd see the witch's point." Of course they all looked; the Dark Lord excepted. Severus carried on. "It _would_ allow Malfoy sole concentration on his own Vanguard, instead of acting sergeant and dual duty with hers." He left pause. "In practice it would allow us a solid offensive strategy at all times, no matter Bella's immediate attention." Severus had had enough of this dance. They still had half an agenda to get through. And he was fucking hungry. "And for fuck's sake, Bellatrix. Lower your wand. Castration is messy."

Genuinely, she shot Snape an interested look. And he swore, realizing it had been the wrong thing to say. However, the danger passed, as the Dark Lord prompted her wand down. Still. He noted her interest in gaining that…particular skill. Lord Voldemort had to admit: she was a rabid student. But in the back of his mind he plotted their next lesson, ever her mentor. Rosier brought up a decent question.

"I agree with you, Snape-ster." He ignored the resulting face and gestured to Bella instead. "But why bother swapping Malfoy for Snape? What's the advantage?" A cheeky grin. "Besides the obvious git-shaming, that is…"

Bellatrix had always enjoyed Rosier. She winked at him, pleased. Silently, he toasted her, eyes entertained. She answered.

"Despite Snivey's damper on life and our obvious discord…" Snape glared at her; Bella's eyes held strange affection anyway. She paced, gesticulated when appropriate. "We do work well. He's got a talent for…anticipation. And I don't have to guess where his mind's wandering. If the prime Vanguards are to weave competent strategy, their commanders need a certain…_je ne sais quoi_. A synchrony, if you will. The 3rd Vanguard has always worked in the shadows, not the front lines. And while Snape excels there…he does better when skulking in the open. Lucy-boy does not. I rather think the underbelly suits him better." Narcissa wouldn't be pleased at her wording. But she was.

Unfortunately, Snape agreed. It was no secret that Bellatrix and Lucius made the worst of colleagues. Snape and the witch had their personal differences, but they were seamless in battle. There was a reason they'd fallen into bed more than once this decade. (On a very distant side and related note, buried far from his Lord's perpetual mind scans — Severus hoped he wouldn't be the one to kill her, when full cards were laid. But that was some future away.) The Dark Lord liked his cabinet to process amongst themselves. Bicker really. He found the soundboard grounding, even if he didn't participate. It was good leadership, to allow free flow ideas. To an extent. He moved them, no indication to his leaning.

"And the sergeant?" He intrigued as Bella's face rouged. So slightly, that only a master would catch it. He did.

"My Lord, if I may, it's simple: we promote from within." Her words were precise and equivocal.

Yaxley hopped on board, smelling opportunity and drooling at the prospect. Beyond peeved, Snape took on the bugger.

"I'm sorry, but could you tone down the brown-nosing ambition? I can't hear over your silent ass-kissing."

But Bellatrix was wiser.

"Oh both of you shut your cock holes. I already have someone in mind." Full skirts pooled the floor as she knelt at the Dark Lord's feet. Starlit eyes and head never bowed. "Do I have your favour?" Face waited, far too open and preemptive.

Voldemort knew she held two conversations. And he knew that expression well: she either wanted or hid something. Most likely both. But more so, Voldemort was always unsettled when warrior star showed such supplication. Not because he didn't expect it; he did. Not because she wasn't one to acquiesce to others; she wasn't. But because she was the only person on this earth to rival him, both in mind and power. He still saw the eight year-old-scowl that snuck into a Manor Noir guest room and challenged him for something more out of life. The child he took on as pupil. They'd always had an indefinable relationship. It was nothing parental but nothing close to peer. He'd taken her innocence, but only because they agreed no one else was worthy (or _available_) at the time. And while sexual tension was copious, it was rather understood as part of their game: means, that is. Certainly not ends.

The Dark Lord supposed. If he pushed her for definition, the witch would have declared him both her Master and brother-in-arms (the latter an adoptive title not taken lightly in their world). He recalled the violence she'd taken, violation on a long-ago raid by Order members; she'd exhausted her magic apparating their injured Lord far from harm's way. He must admit: she was the closest thing to family he had. A niece by loyalty. And it had been a long time since someone had caught his Bella's eye. So as fond as the Dark Lord could ever feel, he cupped her chin and stood; thin fingers prompting Bella to rise. They regarded each other. He waited until her eyes accidentally softened to desperation and conveyance of secondary desire, and then peaked in her mind, finding. A _particular _desire. A flicker of surprise struck him and yet not. He saw—

Startled, she pushed him out, all the while sending apology. And a slight fear of retribution.

_Ah_. So _that_ was her worry. Voldemort internally chuckled. Normally, he'd punish such disrespect. But he supposed this wasn't Cause; this was personal. And it wasn't surprising in hindsight, he decided. She always had an eye for beautiful things and far too much passion to waste on a man. Her eyes downcasted. And the Master realized she was less concerned with his wand and more so with his opinion; Sapphism was still exploited in their world. He tipped her chin up. To the others, they saw a lover's embrace as he whispered in her ear.

"Always."

To Bella, it was unconditional acceptance. He wouldn't begrudge her direction of passion. She pondered if he'd change his mind, once he knew the recipient. But for his part, the Dark Lord wondered when he and Bellatrix had gotten so good at doubled-conversations. He wondered if the witch even knew. He suspected they'd discuss the woman in question during their next lesson. (The Dark Lord had only caught a glimpse of flaxen…Bella's low chuckle. A field he thought. And oddly, it had felt like her 30s. Not that she looked aged over such days. Magic had distinct pros.) In brazen reaction, the table watched as she reverently kissed the corner of his mouth. Rodolphus looked caught between cock stand and detestation. Catching onto that faint nuance again, Snape cracked his knuckles…searching for Rubik's solution. He couldn't solve, but he did find the kiss to hold something closer to familial affection. But they'd already moved back to business. Or perhaps they'd never left. She knew it hadn't yet clicked.

"Now tell me, the soul you have in mind." The Dark Lord prompted. He hadn't had a soap opera in so long. But it was time to clean house. He wondered at her discomfort; it was rare to see his creature so uneasy in the skin.

Bella stalked to the window, skirts whipping wake in her path. She leaned against the stonework, hopping onto the wide sill and gazing at the moon. The stone ledge cupped her body and resonated her tones. They'd long ago given Bella free reign of movement in these meetings. In earlier years, The Dark Lord had learned the hard way that stifling triggered her rather inflammatory and incidental magic.

"Seeing as Lu-Lu is lacking, in his stead I'd watch my sister serve well. I'm sure she'd perform wonders under me." Bell tones silked, asking her Lord for several things. She hoped he'd be illuminated. She hoped not.

The table freaked in mutters. Narcissa Malfoy. _That_, the Dark Lord hadn't been expecting. Her shine was illuminating: Bella's desire and recruit were one and the same. Only Severus' eyebrows took air, as he had the good grace to choke on amusement. Cognition nailed his brain, not understanding how he and the world had missed that Bellatrix Lestrange was in love with her sister. Incredulously, a quick glance assured him that those in conference sucked at innuendo, though his Lord did not. (Even Bellatrix seemed unaware her secret had finally made it onto their radar.) Severus and the Dark Lord had a moment; an odd sense of camaraderie concerning the female force they housed in His ranks. The potions master wondered how many times Bellatrix had spelled it out, and yet none had made the word. Severus couldn't decide if this ought make him contrite. Lucius, however, decided to take to idiocy and spouted off. Apparently, slight recovery of strength did not extend to mind or mouth.

"She...can't be _serious_, my Lord!" He croaked. "That's my wife, my property." Lucius frogged, his face bug-eyed, slightly smooshed as he rotated neck on the table.

The Dark Lord's speech poised to continue.

"L—"

"No shit Salazar!" But alas, the best and unrestrainable lieutenant let snark out first. Bella spat vitriol, oddly financed by punny. "But I am _Sirius-ly_ glad you can tell people apart. Because no, you haven't been poorly fucking my dead cousin. Though lord knows you seem to like bones." Bellatrix pleasantly heckled, reclining on innuendo beach.

The table erupted in locker-room mockery and the Dark Lord raised a brow. His spindly hand reached for hissing scales, fondly agreeing with Nagini's laughter, though not the woman's insubordination. A stickler for propriety, he didn't abide interruption well…even if well deserved. Or perhaps he just wanted to test her resolve. Her commitment to paramour. To him.

**_Crucio. _**

Her head cracked back on stone. Defiantly, she never flinched, though trembles and white knuckles gave her away. Through the coursing pain, Bella managed her last bit.

"And Pea…cock, I think you'll find that p-property law is hard to uphold when your wife's financial h-holdings reap more than your own. You'll n-never ever own her." She rolled into the agony like childhood home and sunset boulevards. Sinking into pain, the witch bit her lip and synapses filled with gold hair and stars.

Master and apprentice locked eyes, digging up respect. Bella's flickered an oddity; her brand of blush. The uncharacteristic vulnerability and he didn't need legilimency to fathom. Not spell pain, but she flinched the moment he let her know…he knew exactly _who_ held her heart. For now he bookmarked that particular revelation and her unspoken request. And thought he would never admit it, a small tenderness flashed for the protégé that sought his blessing. Unorthodox as her desires may be. He released her. And Bella lost rigidity and relaxed back into her stonework niche, lazily draped like cat and hedonism. Legs crossed and contemplating.

"And moreover, I assure you Lucy…she was _my_ sister first." Full force, her snotty resumed, as did her height. She stood.

"Fuck you, you fucking twat." Lucius' slur was far less threatening when he still face-planted on table.

The Dark Lord sighed, feeling like a fucked-over guidance counselor at a wizarding camp from Hell.

"And that's why, dear gents, some of us know how to _take_ it better than others." Idly, Bella's hands traced down her curves. "Twat indeed. Seems peacock prick can't take a proper pounding." And Bellatrix was already back to good form.

Catcalls. The Dark Lord shot her a chastising but approving expression. For his part, Lucius left amphibian realm as beet tendencies accosted his complexion. The grin on the vixen's face broadened as quick-draw wands again speared the table air. Severus drained his wine, settling up for ridiculum. His glass magically refilled. Another night and Voldemort might have indulged in entertainment and granted her play. But _this_ night was business.

"Lucius, don't provoke her." Dismissively, he waved a hand.

Bella's wand fell (only after Malfoy's did), but her smirk did not. It preened with a well-deserved arrogance. She so did enjoy her Lord. For his part, Severus found irony an additive well served with wine. He sipped and had the stupid inclination to laugh himself silly. Dolohov at least attempted at vetting.

"Her merits, the chit?"

It was the wrong thing to say. And the wrong person to say it.

"Chit yourself, Dolly." Snarls. "She's a witch, Antonin, not your fugly two-bit whore." Honestly though, from Bella this was a decently benign reminder. Choosing to ignore Dolohov, she addressed the table. "An idiotic oversight on their part, but Narcissa isn't on the Order watch list. Furthermore, she's a full Master in charms, unmarked, and has a penchant for slight of hand. Even better, she has unfettered access to the Ministry through social channels. We couldn't pick a better mole if we tried." Black eyes glowed in dim light, speaking truth and emotion.

Lucius sneered.  
"Yeah…if we were invading the Fashion and Commerce Department. She has no experience with battle." He seemed to have regained neck muscles, if not face.

"What makes you think she can do this?" Even Rosier seemed somewhat unconvinced.

The Dark Lord kept his silence, letting the score find movement. Bellatrix hissed, undeterred.

"No experience means no need to beat out bad habits gained; we can train a fresh mind our way. And had any of you played wizarding chess with her instead of whoring about, you'd know Narcissa outclasses most in strategy. The witch is remarkable with a wand and far shrewder than most men here. She knows our basic structure and can take orders from the _right_ commander." Bella eyed Lucius, lingering upon his crotch, her grin poo-pooing its offerings. "We need a strategist with a cool mind in the face of danger, not another half-cocked fighter. And while you may scoff at her socialite tendencies, she's the best manipulator to gain us social capital. We can't win this war with wands alone. We need might in other ways too."

Voldemort stroked Nagini, silence his logical box. He acknowledged the truth of both Lucius and Bella's words. And the ones she didn't speak. And while he wasn't a fan of rewarding her failures, he had to admit she had won at chess: there wasn't a professional reason to refuse her plan. Her eyes twinkled and he conceded that she grew more arrogant with the years. But even in his absent heart, he couldn't find a reason to disturb her feverish ambition to exceed expectations. For him.

For her.

"Checkmate, Bellatrix. And brief her."

Lucius sputtered as Bella won court. Having enough of his drivel, Severus openly silenced the incensed moron, muttering about how this was like the damned frontier. Voldemort couldn't disagree with the action. But his fun wasn't yet had. Idly, he threw another Crucio at his failed lieutenant. And spoke to his best.

"Though I suspect she needs no general training, only specific. Or have your midnight sneaks into the arena ceased? She nearly struck down your defenses last night."

He recalled blonde shining in the moonlight; clothesline tension that Bella's knife nearly cut and kissed. At the time he'd dismissed the idea, blaming male go-to assumptions. Or hopes rather. Voldemort amused as her face was open for seconds, surprised and off-kilter. A reminder that he knew all and she only won when he allowed. Her jawline swallowed and found itself humbled before her god. Bared awkwardly. The witch inclined her head, lashes closed in admittance. He let her to thoughts and adjourned the meeting.

"I think we've exhausted this eve. We'll resume tomorrow. Come, Severus. There's brewing to be done tonight."

The so named hummed his wandering attention. His interest seemed raised by a disquieted Bella in thought. As did his cock in robes, despite his half-loathing.

"Just need to harvest the Belladonna."

"I hardly think she needs plucking by your hand." The quip move on. "But do put Lucius right…eventually." Voldemort eyed the floppy disgrace. His Lordship rose, robes with him to the door.

Severus scowled and awkwardly escaped, deliberately leaving Malfoy for later. Bellatrix chuckled at his obvious disdain and anatomical issue. She lingered, mind in sunning fields. The Dark Lord had turned, watching her window muse at moon. "And Bella-child…as you will. But I expect a report when it's done. Dismissed." This benediction he gave.

Her heart beat gold.

* * *

**Author's Note II:** R &amp; R, lovelies.

(Credits: _Anna Nalick_ – Breathe (2AM), _What You Want_ – Legally Blonde the Musical, _Xena: Warrior Princess_ – Amphipolis Under Siege (S5E14))


	3. On a Cable

_Sunday._

Heat lighting flashed on parchment, illuminating words in the storm. For Cissa, it was no contest: she preferred the moor days when sky matched the unforgiving earth. These days, not for their apathy but for their congruency. However, incongruent was the summons from the Dark Lord with words tasting of her sister. There was trepidation in Cissa's perusal. Her fingertips traced looping letters, so obviously penned by Bellatrix. So obviously signed off by the Dark Lord. She wondered at their game because it felt genuine. The magic _felt_ honest and parchment tingled under hand, promising hope and splendor. As if His nod of acceptance lit the room, quiet and knowing. As if Bella's lips kept her safe, faithfully rowing. Momentarily, her own made motions, silent and scripted, phrases that coated her mouthing mouth with oddity and rejoinder. The witch took to the window and recalled Bella's proximity at this very spot, earlier in the week. Blonde let the eve smirk in booms and tipped the owl with meat. He beaked it shrewdly, much as she penned her a missive of receipt.

Understanding, her black robes were needed.

Understanding, she would pay the Minister an impromptu meeting.

Understanding, the week was out.

* * *

_Tuesday._

Raid night. The blonde's subterfuge had gone well; the Ministry wards had been taken down easily under ruse, idiotic officials none-the-wiser. She scoffed. Ridiculous, that a supposed housewife outsmarted the Ministry with simple charm and charms. And cookies. She smirked, serpentine. Men were predictable buffoons.

_'The cleavage didn't hurt, either.' _It never did.

Across the circle, she watched her husband sweat. Closer and more closely, she watched her sister. Bella's skin burned whiter than Selene. And that dress was sin walking. The moon hung low, a boulder squashing the earth. The night brewed another storm and the summer lightning was anxious. In the wind the death crew was cucumiform, bated as the eve and waiting on command from their center. The Dark Lord was pillar. Billowing robes circled and caught Bella's laughter on the updraft. His whispers were the trees and caught every branch against their throats. They followed and hanged by every roped syllable.

Cissa stood near Bellatrix, her long plait distressed by the wind, tendrils wisping wild. His words and she was unsettled, not used to such seduction of speech. Bellatrix soothed the silence that never spoke; calming touches on the woman's arm. She regarded her sister fondly, enjoying nature on the blonde. He spoke. They listened. But the warrior felt heat on her jawline and bristled as magic spiked. Narcissa blushed when Bella caught her stare. She looked easily away, face iced but heart fired. But the lieutenant merely hiked an eyebrow and tucked Cissy's winded hair back under cloak, her hands lingering in gentles seen for no other. Tracing ears. Fostering things they didn't speak. And Cissa couldn't explain her hand tangling in Bella's, as she let the witch pull her close. She did however blush when the Dark Lord's gaze fell on them briefly, amused mostly at Cissa's distraction. The crowd cheered, apparently praising her sly orchestrations. This confirmed by Lucius' sneer.

"Sergeant, you've outdone yourself. He's pleased." Bella's lips paid professional compliment, too sultry on the blonde's cheek. "As am I, my pretty."

Bellatrix chuckled and her murmurs swept for Cissa alone, dulcet amongst their Lord's cello. She shifted behind, letting her chin rest atop Cissy's shoulder. Winking antagonism at Lu-Lu. Narcissa shivered. Arms about her waist fastened her cloak tighter. She turned, eyes tentative but clear.

"He asked. You…asked."

The whisper was and Bellatrix let Cissa move in their moment. It wouldn't do to fire wand too early. And so, the witch prodded their attention turned back to the Dark Lord rallying his troops. Pleased with progress on many fronts.

"The world has gone mad today; good authors once knew better words." He spoke of reversion, of the ills he sought to murder from this world. His always Bellatrix flanked him, his Gothic steeple ringing in war. He amused at the smaller belle beside her. Which reminded him…

"Lucius." The hiss was telling. "Do take care to avoid fuckery this time, lest you should be robbed of its better meaning." He nodded toward his newest sergeant, enjoying her wide eyes, newfound in freedom. And not for the first time, he considered targeting his next recruiting campaign solely upon women. Wizards were idiots, not realizing the power witches held.

Perspiration beaded on her husband's forehead and Narcissa choked on several emotions, many good, several untold. Bella's eyes became pits; schadenfreude pupils blown in the pre-glory of battle. The witch cackled softly, her Lord's wit and whim never failing. Their god captivated, his speech amplifying the moon. Appetizers were fun, but he moved onto meal. Restlessness coated his army. His favorite lieutenant was out for blood. He wouldn't deny her their mutual satisfaction.

"Drive the attack fast, I don't car about low bar…the end justifies the means. But on my order, keep _all_ the higher-ups breathing." Eyes glowed red with ambiguity, knowing what she'd do. "Bellatrix, the lead is yours."

"Are you bound to agree then, to what I proposed?" In rakish move far too arrogant, she pushed him. Her eyes darkened with Cissa at her side, blonde hair in her heart. Bella enjoyed prodding him, enjoyed his approval.

He knew what she asked.

Corseted, the woman was warrior. His men (chauvinistic at best, casual rapists at worst) worshiped her in wartime. She handled their faults with grace, handled her command with strength. Master eyed student, vexed and proud. He wondered if Ares and Discord had fucked the world over, in pursuit of their mortal child. The sight was appealing, he supposed, beautiful hands on those slip hips. The blonde had grown on him. She was collected, cool in a way elusive to Bella. Touched by Artemis. A different kind of huntress. And the Dark Lord could very well appreciate such talent. Could very well appreciate her shyness under his star's presence. Still. He was somewhat unclear on Bella's affections regarding himself. Half the time he suspected their attraction was otherworldly; their indefinite liaisons spoke to respect and never romance. Even so. He couldn't deny that her coquetting roused. Undefined intentions aside, he knew her loyalty and rewarded it. It was high time her heart laid where it lay. And moreover, it was time he solidified their alliance. After all, a conquered kingdom needed leadership.

"As I said, anything goes. Your brand of fuckery I don't mind. She did well. You've earned your spoils." He approached them, the women: his best and her best. "And title."

The warrior star inclined her head, paying homage to her maker, her face a galaxy of promise and confusion. His suspicions confirmed. Bellatrix would forever be his second, this only strengthen by his acknowledgement of her passions. Briefly, he cupped her face quietly. Her eyes questioned, perplexed by the affection. He saw that young child once again, the one with hidden bruises, eager for…purpose. And he did not regret disemboweling her father. The crowd murmured something frenetic as he deigned his head low, indicating more than favor. Rather his equal. They would rule together. He thought to chuckle at her face, both blanched and preening. His lady. And hers beside. He may be king, but even kings needed a queen. And far be it to deny his lady her love. Voldemort did laugh now, cold and content. He'd just made court. And their princess was key. Narcissa wasn't like her sister. She wallpapered through life, bending situations to whatever guise best suited that moment. Whereas Bellatrix couldn't be anything less than Bella. But the Dark Lord quite thought the Malfoy woman was very much herself, chin on par with his, no bend in sight. Gems cold and battle sprung. Possessive. She'd match Bella well. He internally tittered, playing Eros.

"Sergeant. Walk with me. Lady Bella, prep the first wave." And with that, they were royal and unopposed.

His warrior twirled in response, taking in the night. A smile lofted at him, understanding this…desire of his. Feeling oddly at home and starry-eyed she skipped off to annoy her men. But not before pecking her sister's temple, trembling. Lingering a second too long, eyes thanking her Lord. But then she was off.

"My Lord." Cissa was less frivolous in confusion. Less fidgety.

He wanted to laugh at her tone, utterly brazen and teasing in the coldest of manners. She matched his Bella well indeed. Ice for the fire. The Dark Lord kept the silence between and enjoyed her reaction. Or lack thereof. He approved of the calm before storm.

"You die and she'll die." Ambiguity and he wondered which way she'd take it.

But she understood and resolved to live.

* * *

**Author's Note:** R &amp; R.

(Credits:_ Anna Nalick_ – Breathe (2AM), _Cole Porter_ \- Anything Goes)


	4. Life's Like

"I'd have guessed flamingo." Rosier mused. "It feels like flamingo."

A collective groan. Cissa snorted; Evan marked the fifth stupid guess.

"Oh do shut it, Evy-boy," Bellatrix snapped, her patience tried for the umpteenth time. "Now I have to start over again. _Again_ again." Her fondness for Rosier aside, "If you're going to be plebeian, go fuck yourself back to the last checkpoint and cavort with the peons." Her eyes scowled shut, back to concentration.

The novel sergeant amused herself, eyes scanning the ostentatious decor, mind trying to beat Bella to destination: long live sibling rivalry. Cissa's nose twitched; Evan hadn't been completely off base. It did feel like an "Fl" word. A small crowd lingered at security checkpoint F. Though Narcissa had lowered the main alarms, the wards themselves wouldn't take anything less than time and a master Legilimens. The art of Legilimency wasn't an instantaneous feat, though practice and experience did foster speed. The Dark Lord's ability often appeared immediate, but he'd relayed to Bellatrix that his expertise was emotion, which was best suited to his purposes: manipulation. Much to her master's delight, and perhaps in contrast to her easily distracted self, but Bella's specialty was objects and passwards. These delicacies took time. But she enjoyed snarfing down the puzzle. Ah, there it was. But she wanted to see if—

"Flamenco." Cissa said quietly.

Black eyes pulsed under lids, twitching a pleased pale. The small band of non-merry men anticipated castigation from their lieutenant and was mildly put out when her head merely inclined agreement. They held surprised tongue when one eye glowed open, twinkling. Bellatrix fell into instruction mode.

"Very good, Sergeant. That's the anchor ward." The eye snapped shut again. "Come close and hear better. This is a quadmetric." Bella's best kept secret: in another life she would have excelled as professor. But as it was this life, she schooled the dead.

Narcissa took to pedagogy well and fell in line beside her sister. Their hands brushed. Pinky grazing wrist. A death eater coughed, uncomfortable with the copious amounts of silence. The blonde regarded the corridor, seemingly open. But detected the lethal wall of magic before them. In the low glow of wands the faintest shimmer feinted. She watched Bella feel the way, particular hands playing particular path. Cissa settled into the lesson, head tilted toward the force field, listening for cracks and whispers. Her features furrowed.

"Blue-footed flamenco walker?" The blonde drawled her suspicion.

Despite their ill-meant stealth. Bellatrix burst into cackling echoes. Emptied of its day politics and scheming, the night corridor spun the sounds, spiraled and eerie in their mirth.

"You're going to wake the damn house, Bella." Severus hissed his displeasure. Fuck, he hated the woman he didn't hate.

"And a plague on yours, Snivey." Her mouth twitched, still laughing. Bellatrix patted his face merrily. "Calm your cunt, or has adventure died in your drawers?" Despite his sourpuss, her attention waned, pulled back by a blond brow, high and raised. "Cissy..." Bella pondered fondly, too amused. "Close, sister, but no cigar. Don't tell me you've been smoking your prized Petunias?"

Cissa had inclination to grin and the entire structure of life felt like Hogwarts for moments. Severus glowered, but not particularly out of negativity.

"Enough!" Yaxley's mentality was threadbare. His beady eyes perused the corridor incessantly, obviously freaked by their less than lawful entry. "Get on with it. Not all of us are prison material."

Snape winced, feeling the barb for her. He didn't even begrudge the jewel shot in answer. Yaxley doubled over, cradling a well-deserved agony. Prison jokes were still too early; a touch touched.

"And sssome of us aren't jewel material." Bellatrix crowed, crouching and hissed in the wretch's face. Her wand threatened neck, the expert tool gunning to write red.

"Bella..." Narcissa murmured, checking her sister's more murderous rages. She too crouched, whispering amelioration.

The potions master shot the blonde a thankful look, as she played anodyne to Bella's wrath; he rather thought her hands were golden. Just not platinum. The sergeant shivered, lips close to her wilding.

"The passward, dearest. We've bigger jewels to...ah defile." Her nose turned up, sneering at the lump of a man. If you could call it that.

Perhaps rethinking energy, or perhaps just inclined toward her sister, but Bellatrix rose without further vitriol, an extended hand taking Narcissa with. The lieutenant pulled too hard. And in a most in aristocratic manner Cissa stumbled into her solidity. Blonde eyes widened to pools, perplexed at that very distinct feeling of curves pressed to curves. Bella might have shifted. Might have lingered too long. Might have chuckled. And might have intoned too low for carry, except for Cissa's ear.

"Are you offering up your sapphires then, deary?" Bella quipped salaciously.

"I offer you nothing!" Narcissa hissed panic and pushed away, throat flushed and wanting to avoid public scandal. Of course, that action in itself drew attention.

Dolohov glanced at them askance, intrigued. Rosier muttered something skeevy akin to leer. Mulciber was board-like; the yooze. But Snape annoyed himself with his own good will of distraction.

"Right you dunderheads, once the wards are down..." He reiterated plan to the group, knowing the harpy ought buy him a fucking brothel, for all the interference he'd run. It was a marathon at this point.

Bemused, Bellatrix took advantage, soothing blonde and ruffled feathers. Her hand trailed to throat hollow.

"I meant the one highlighting your décolletage, dear. Did you take it for something else?" The tempting servant clarified, serpentine and satisfied. Smirking.

Lost for words, the sergeant recalled the necklace, sure and dangling against her throat. Oh. Right. Cheeks roused, steamed by several emotions. Bellatrix stepped closer, smoothly, so as not to trigger the skittish thing. She twirled a blonde lock.

"But then again, the set you boast from your face is lovelier still...ALRIGHT YOU TOSSPOTS."

The words whispered and ran into reality so fast, Cissa had to wonder if anything been said at'all. Bellatrix moved as it hadn't. Her boom and the men formed rank. She had that quality. And they had their leader. It enthralled the blonde.

"Stick to formation once the ward is breached. You deviate from plan and I'll skin your cocks and feed 'em fried to your wives."

Bellatrix twirled her wand, eyes alight and gunning for fight. Severus flanked, anticipating her move. But Evan was their comedic relief.

"A little half-cocked though, ain't it? I don't know if Yaxley has much to skin." He smirked and fell into position.

"And now I remember why I let you breathe." The warrior intoned pleasantly. She swiveled dramatically to Cissa, boots clacking her drollness, skirts spinning sardonically. "Blue-footed flamenco walker..." She chuckled, tickled Black. "I think the Ministry would shite themselves stupid at that. No, Flower, better _black-haired flamenco dancers_." The room sizzled as the ward broke, magic falling about them. Pitch bore into Cissa, entendre far too clear. "I'd rather fuck them over instead." She hissed. "Begin!"

And then chaos struck gold.

And they were off in all directions, this being the last obstruction to the main atrium — the gateway to mayhem. The Ministry of Magic was arrogant, in the kind of way that looked stupid _before_ hindsight. So while the preemptive and penultimate wards were staffed with a sparse nightshift (were being key), the inner sanctuary was not. Bella lingered a half second, gauging the attack. Apparently satisfied, she smirked and was off. Cissa couldn't decide between grateful and pursed, as Bellatrix led her through the first wave like child in tow. Rosier sprung much like his commander, in an opposite direction. All her top men did: spokes of attack shooting from mother...er murder-ship.

Cissy was Bella's heels. Hand in hand they wove wandering web, spiders charging into fray. The blonde was keen eyed and covered their rear. Bellatrix was more a frontal assault creature, fully capable of taking on situations as they arose. Narcissa felt calmer with stealth; she dealt better in contingency and stratagem. So she wasn't unpleased with the direction. Not that Bella's impulse was without intentionality, it was just merely...wayward. Or so the sergeant thought as they dodged their comrades...and automatic spells from the walls. The main alarms were defunct, but it wouldn't be long until Aurors felt the titanic magical shift in energy. Or we're notified by the motion sensors. They had half a candlemark (maybe) before opposition arrived. And the Dark Lord meant to be in command by then, Ministry taken and coup-ed. Their path ran them through panicked underlings.

"No, idiot, go with him." Bellatrix beat no bush. "No, not him. Him! And you...5th floor!" She hissed at a low level drone. "You better be dead or wed to the target when I see you next. Glued, I tell you. And you…honestly!" The lieutenant redirected, power spilling her throat in command.

And then the first fireward went off.

Pandemonium ensued.

* * *

**Author's Note: **R &amp; R, dearies.

(Credits: __Anna Nalick_ – _Breathe (2AM)_, Counting Crows_ – Mr. Jones, _William S__hakespeare_ – Romeo and Juliet)


	5. An Hourglass Glued

**Author's Note I:** A hearty thank you to _Menzosarres_ and _beforeyouspeak_ for keeping me motivated.

* * *

Bellatrix cursed their reconnaissance intel (mainly Lucius); they had planned for normal booby-traps, but not level three autospells. And hidden firewards were nasty buggers. Much like muggle landmines they were pressure-sensitive, and prone to fiendfyre shrapnel. Bella's feet had purpose: keeping them safe and dodged. An inkling tingled. Danger. She flung Cissa ahead of her, just as an awful scream sounded behind — a not-so-lucky follower. And then heat. Flames crawled too close and the tips of warrior curls sparked. Bella correctly assumed that Cissa would wand an Aguamenti. The blonde did, brow furrowed and streaked with singe. But the warrior pushed on. They ran, the lieutenant taking point once again, her hand strong and experienced.

"Lift," she hissed back at Cissy, black curls bouncing effort and exigency.

The sergeant thought it verbage until she followed Bella's eyeline and wand: due ahead, one of the main lifts beckoned, oddly serene and open in the fray. Narcissa changed her mind, now glad for the hand that clutched and dragged her in seemingly random patterns (Bella's ballet around triggers.) A horrid scream sounded, as a luckless peon set-off another fireward. The smell of death overwhelmed, stinking of charred skin and nasty magic. Bella swore and flung them forward, over the lift threshold. She promptly tucked them away, Cissa wrapped in her arms and pressed into corner. Bellatrix barely managed to cast at the barrage of flames, but the spell held. Her hand bashed the closest button. There was a quiet moment as the doors snapped shut, killing the danger. Birthing another. The enchantment broke, flooding her water shield several inches over their boots. Breath. Trembles against her curls. And they short-stumbled into relieved being. Mortality less imminent, their proximity became salient and lips breathed space and surprise. Bella's hovered near capture.

"Ascending, Department of Mysteries." The lift dutifully chimed the level and the witches jumped apart, moment broken. The elevator hadn't time to open — Bellatrix charmed them upward, the top button illuminated. They looked at each other, fire-tussled and all.

"Fuck." Narcissa spoke, somehow managing cussed propriety at their scalded but live state. She scowled at the squelching in her shoes and the grime in her shine.

Victory in voice, Bellatrix cackled and swung the startled woman around in celebratory waltz. Water-spell remnants sloshed in their personal ocean of survival, shoes kicking elevator shores. Head flung in laughter, Cissa thought her soot-singed sister the most beautiful sight. Her own laughter spilled, eyes lit the lift with magic and life as they danced, as they hadn't since girlhood. The lieutenant's face grew wonder at the sound. Touch snowed upon Cissa's face, so slight she thought it imagined flurry. There wasn't time to contemplate the gentle...as the doors pinged open. The lift sounded and Bella was once again battle.

"Department of Ministry." The elevator was a cheery sprite, a haunting fairway in corridor night.

Stealth for health, the lieutenant cleared the hallways, snorting mutters in Cissa's mind: _'Idiot of a name. Department of Ministry. It's all the fucking Ministry.' _The sergeant mentally tittered at Bella's brand of small talk. And though annoyed at the mental invasion, she took care not to break reality's silence as they entered Cimarron. The reception foyer. It'd been but a day since Narcissa walked this very floor, wits winging and social status swinging. In the absence of workday it felt less ornate, but no less oppressive. Bellatrix was part of the walls, sharp wand out and hugging corners. Cissy covered their rear, taking time to notice details. The penthouse appeared empty, but she knew that appearance and actuality are rarely brothers.

"Fucked bit of style, isn't it?" For the time being, Bella dropped professionalism and prudence, critiquing the gaudy.

"Bellatrix!"

"Really, dear," the witch played. "Because the edifice is _more_ concerned with linguistics…and not the war we started downstairs?"

Narcissa ignored her, unwilling to concede, that yes, Bellatrix had validity…much as the eerie gilded floor with skeleton desks and quiet conference chambers. It was a graveyard, the bones of supposed government without their tendons or pulling flesh. The lieutenant magicked, sucking energy...finding only her sister's. Satisfied that the main atrium was clear. They made way, but her stance changed, employing star over warrior. Curious, Bella exploded an expensive looking thingamajig and waited. Cissa jumped heart and lost breath. But no one showed. The lieutenant mollified, but pouted at their lack of company, muttering:

"Bloody Ministry. They really suck the fun out of everything." Petulantly, Bellatrix wanded at a precarious, but ordered stack of forms. The paper storm tornadoed and spat everywhere. The woman cackled as a sheet dared at the blonde.

"Forgive me, Eris," Cissa quipped and queried, plucking the form off her face, "but here I thought stealth was the primary aim." Sarcasm dressed genuine thought.

"The boring one perhaps," the witch opined. "Consider chaos to be my ancillary, but no less important." Head cocked, she picked up a decorative paperweight, eyeing its swirls and gunning for discord.

"Oh gods, put that down," Narcissa winced, thoroughly bemused at the woman-child. "You can explode later." Her sister was devil amongst finery. And her lips wanted the sin pressed to her, bonfired and burning.

Bellatrix chuckled and had catch, tossing the bobble freakishly high, hand enjoying the return. Gauging her sister's eyes, her mouth quirked, decided in action. Wand assisted as she hip-checked a desk, pleased as it crashed into several of its brethren. It cleared the corporate jungle, splintering them into a queer kind of open country. The dark witch approached and the blonde didn't know what to make of the smirk attack. Not as it drew too near, too intentional in the split office sea. And Cissa found herself backed against a less destroyed desk. The window draft was cool behind her and reminiscent of last week's _chat_ in the study. She watched Bella magick the bobble into incandescent dust, glassy with chunks — a tiny universe illuminated between talented hands.

"Come, now..." Bellatrix trailed smokily, shrewd eyes observing her companion. Clever fingers commanded the ball of magic. "We've mayhem to impart." She spoke mission, but her face softened with nebulous emotion.

The warrior came closer and built them an alcove. Her fingers gathered energy, fostering a lazy spellcast. Glass shards spilled bright as blue eyes and spun between master hands. Bella let the magic wind and shape and reverberate, until finally, she threw it arcing into the air, suspending a makeshift sky near the rafters. The witch crafted their own Great Hall of adulthood and larceny. The space-scape was indescribable, indelibly burned into Cissa's memory — such magic a rare beauty to behold. Much like her sister. The sergeant sighed at the marvelous effect; nebulae glowed new theories and constellations, lighting the room with whim and wonderment. Had they not been mid-coup, Narcissa would have thought it timely and inspired. Art. But as it was, Bellatrix didn't give her the courtesy of prudence, only a knowing hand on the witch's face. Decades of avoidance boomed into bang. And Cissa understood this was Bella's stance on romance.

"I think it's high time we verbalized that starlight of yours." The warrior's words galvanized, fingers caressing shy jaw. "I'm sick of having your heart and not your lips." Bella's words were hot against the truth, laced with unexpected tender and fury.

Unceremoniously, the witch pushed between Cissa's skirts and the blonde had no choice but to shift onto the desk, fingers trembling catharsis on her sister's hips. She was glad for the ethereal shadows, not able to handle this in the full light of day. Not when a hand traced her and arched the small of her back into corset. Curves. She was owned. Long plait wrapped around Bella's hand. Lips tipped so close, airbrushes their only gap.

"I swear to all the fucked gods, Cissy," Bellatrix murmured absurdly, "I'll fuck Lucius with an eggplant if you run again."

Despite the situation, Narcissa couldn't help blithe laughter, sparkling like galaxy. But intent teeth on her jaw choked the levity into dwarfing whimper.

"Bella," she whispered, "I lo—"

But the witch cupped her mouth suddenly, as a distinct rustle of footsteps broke their rendezvous. Reality had returned and their eyes caught, back to mission. Silently, Bella helped her sister off the desk, shielding the witch from danger. The warrior took point again and led them to the hall archway, toward the escaping sound. They left the main vestibule and entered the office-ridden corridor, the lieutenant stalking them toward some unlucky resident. The women worked in tandem. Silently the dark witch spelled, narrowing down the fucker's location. The sergeant set up a series of quick wards behind them, effectively cutting off any hope of enemy retreat. Aware of Narcissa's wide-eye adrenaline, Bellatrix purred at the hints of arousal that shimmered between — nothing like war to rouse the blood. She crept toward a particular door, Cissa her shadow. The blonde saw that wartime smile and braced.

Battle cry and Bellatrix shot a stunner into the wall, meant to startle. She grinned when a surprised yelp and telltale crash verified. (It sounded like file cabinets and a very sorry kneecap.) Smirking, she smelled prey and meant to roast enemy tonight. Brutally, she kicked in the door and immediately pressed herself and sister flush to the adjourning outside wall, as offensive hexes shot their way. One narrowly missed Cissa's shoulder. A volley of spells then exchanged, color bursts lighting up the battlefront doorjamb and smelting the air with magic. (Bella made mental note that an incensed Narcissa, scented the blonde's magic much like burnt cinnamon and flowers.) An eventual lull smoked, as both parties reassessed position and plan.

Inopportune, but it didn't stop the half-stolen kiss Cissa dared against her sister's mouth, quick desperation catching bottom lip and promises. She had meant to leave it at that, perhaps as good luck or some dire need to taste the witch once before battle. Just once…even if they weren't reconciled. But Bellatrix refused to miss opportunity and caught her lips again, salaciously. Against the wall, the affair was dead silent, breath holding as tentative nips and home lingered. Narcissa was grateful for the restriction of words, as she was frantic against the warrior's mouth, soft and needing. She didn't notice as Bella backed her into the office, one eye and wand trained on their gobsmacked threat: Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic.

Quite reasonably, the minister was taken aback by the amorous enemy. It was an odd Trojan horse, but Bellatrix wasn't opposed to mixing her business with pleasure. His wand matched his stalled brain and hung limply, utterly flummoxed by kissing women in his bestrewn office. Fed-up with the pace (and incompetent foe), she slammed Narcissa against the nearest wall, savage mouth finally bringing the witch to moan. Thigh parted her sister's skirts and she teased that straining neck, purring obscenity at the sound.

"Cunt deprived much, Cissa-dear?"

Narcissa growled and Bellatrix was quite unable to use her mouth for several moments, as her favorite Fury invaded it. They must have made quite the incendiary and taboo scene — high class and war tangled in a steaming collision. Rocked against each other, hand pinned to wall. Despite the dalliance, their wands trained on enemy. A particular nip and Cissa's fired a wayward expelliarmus (it had always been prone to timely incidental magic). The minister squeaked and tripped backwards, stumbling backward into his office chair. One or both of them murmured (and moaned) "Accio." And Bellatrix thoroughly thanked lips and reached behind her…his wand deftly caught by expectant hand. This was teamwork she could appreciate. Bellatrix rolled her eyes at the idiocy of man and regretted that her mouth should leave her sister. She flicked her wand, hissing.

"Incarcerous." The warrior cracked her neck in preparation and unceremoniously left Narcissa boiling by the doorframe, lips smudged. Eyes golden and drugged.

The Madame took it in stride, perhaps having found that piece of Black that Bella wielded like breath. Disdainfully, the two of them regarded the hogtied Minister, precariously perched in his ostentatious chair. Sputtering idiotic defense.

"Madame you can't—"

Smirking, the blonde didn't hesitate to shoot a stinging hex at their odd observer. Nor did she comment when a second Incarcerous sprouted from her partner's wand. Gagging the fartbag dumb, as if he wasn't enough of that before.

"I quite assure you I can."

Bellatrix slithered up behind her witch, hands caressing curves and murmuring encouragement. Those hands wandered too close to apex and Narcissa gasped. Bella wanted sex and torture — the wand in her hand steadied.

"Do you feel that?" Plotting fingers brushed Cissa's nipples through dress and approved of the resulting shivers. "Do you see how he…feels?" Despite the rope gag and binds, the Minister _erected_ his feelings quite well. And Bellatrix knew exactly which buttons to push, which salacious jealousies suited her beloved. "Why my my, it seems we have another Dolly all over again. Would you like to kiss him too?" It was the small cruelty that did it.

Narcissa snapped and screamed rage, waves of power pulsing outward. The wandless Crucio hit both the Minister and her sister. Bellatrix hadn't time to be impressed by the raw magic; she could only thrill at the pain and gain. A most frequent practitioner of her favoured spell, Bella amused at Cissy's rendition, curious as the ill-trained Minister wailed and soiled himself…and then came. Nose wrinkled, the warrior chuckled slight stutters, slightly limp against her powerful sibling. The unforgiveable went on a bit too long. Long enough for Bella to find twisted pleasure in blue eyes. Lips nipped her ear and Narcissa pulled back to morality. Gasping, the blonde realized what she'd done and dropped her wand, burned by her lack of conscience. Cissa backed away, into bookshelves, into shame. It was less the Minister — that, of course, was expectedly unexpected. (Housewifery bringing down politic would be the coup of the millennium). It wasn't even the pain she'd caused her sister, well aware that Bella enjoyed such things. No. It was more so the shame of Bellatrix knowing _why _such magic had exploded. Trembling, she ignored as the lieutenant picked up her fallen wand, approaching the shaken witch casually.

"Feel better, deary? That's quite the pretty aggression you've pent up these last decades." The witch holstered the wand for her, hands playing on hips.

"Oh fuck off, Bella."

"Oh with that filthy mouth, dear." Bellatrix rasped quip, kissing the frustrated woman. Behind it, a half-century's worth of denial unleashed. She teased Cissa, whispering of face-sitting murmurs and orgasm whimpers.

The blonde shimmered hopes and hurts and moats, unwilling to capitulate just quite yet. The warrior had to admit; it had taken years to fully understand Cissa's odd approach to their relationship. The lake scene of years ago and Bella had realized then, that their feelings were devastatingly mutual. At the time, she assumed the blonde hadn't understood her heart and had instead projected — as Dolohov was the _expected_ jealousy. But Narcissa would never speak of it again. Black was black as does and incest wasn't uncommon. But had they indulged, it would have been more than that. And the world wasn't as easy as love, so they'd settled…for Cissa knowing. And Bellatrix knowing that Cissa knew. The eldest had tried and pried, unable to prompt such fervor from her witch again. So she'd waited, letting the girl shelve their hearts. But the more trysts Bella wielded, the more empty cabinets she built…and the more closed-off Narcissa became, too stubborn to simply ask. The constrained woman had married Lucius like soldier resigned to warless war, whereas Bella employed Rodolphus as replaceable troop. So the years had passed, marriage their trench, lingering looks their weapons.

She clung to Bella's mane and couldn't handle the hands that soothed her face so possessively sweet. Their kiss parted with Cissa's long buried whisper, the one that had never been secret.

"I couldn't bear all those hands on you. I never could. Don't make me go another three decades with you letting them."

She snarled at Bella's skin, at the unworthy ghosts that had touched her beloved first. Mentally, she cataloged her kitchen utensils and enjoyed chopping sausage in daydream. For now, her head buried in the crook of the witch's neck. And despite the indelible hurt and bent heart, Cissa's mouth disobeyed and worshiped its proud column. Her head lifted, shaking hand deliberately bringing Bella's wrist to lips. Narcissa nipped a finger before sucking it in mouth, egging on this strange brand of foreplay and enjoying the rare gasps. Tongue and teeth paid homage to those pretty bones. Bella's hands on her face and the blonde hurt everywhere, this pleasure too much after years of killed dreams. Her mouth found Bella's Dark Mark, calling their Lord and cutting time short. Wide-eyed, Bellatrix held her close and dangerously, pleased with understanding and annoyance. It wasn't the time or place, not with the Minister fouling their privacy with pitiful grunts. And she knew this conversation would resume after Cissa's wits had braided back to form. But she raged all the same, refusing to gift the witch with easy escape.

"As if I didn't have to bear Lucius all these years, knowing my nephew resulted of his claim and your cunt." They had both suffered and Bellatrix refused to let this be their cop out. "And still I loved you every second of it." Her eyes were pained and beautiful in the dark, confessing what she should have by the lake.

The thick smoke of apparition swirled into room, swallowing any words Narcissa could have uttered back. If Bellatrix thought it inappropriate she didn't care, she claimed Cissa's mouth anyway, the books pressing in odd places and their hands wild and resplendent.

"I take it celebrations are in order." The quiet chilled the room.

And then there were four. The Lord, his Queen, her Princess, and their victory jester — slumped, bound, and terrified in chair. Bellatrix lingered against Narcissa's face, the caress promising future returns. She didn't hide the affection as she turned to her Lord, knowing her sister's blush would most surely amuse their Master.

"Ta-daaaaa," she drawled ridiculously, her head inclined in welcome and pleasure. "Cooked rare and fatty with a bit of Crucio, but not overdone." Her smirk deviled the present sentiment. She wondered if rope ends could curl like ribbon. "Though he apparently couldn't wait to come."

Narcissa horrified, but the Dark Lord merely clucked, familiar in his own cold and deadpan way.

"Meat metaphors today? Really, Bellatrix. Even that's a bit straight for you."

Fondly, he cupped the harpy's grinning chin, ignoring his new sergeant's gaping expression. He held in the chuckle, having great fun with the socialite's assumptions. But to business. His robes slid easily over floor. The destruction of the room was minimal, when compared to his lieutenant's history. Pleased the coup d'état had cooed seamlessly, he circled the humiliated wizard, pleased and noting Bella's style. Mouth twitched, recognizing his influence on her magic. Spells were like signatures — her Incarcerous always smelt of sailor knots and bondage, with hints of homage to his rug burn tutorage. The gag was a nice touch; chatty victims grew tiresome. But it was the lack of…singe that caught his attention. His favourite's Crucio carried a fire with them. But this…this smelled like…his eyebrow rose.

"Is there a reason it smells like a garden?" He poked the hog with his wand, satisfied at the strangled oinking, evaluating the ejaculation soaking the wizard's pants.

Bellatrix cocked her head and looked to her sister, amused. Narcissa flushed. And his questions answered. The witches stood apart and too close. And soot-singed or not, he knew swollen lips and Bella's brand of seduction far too well. He had to admit though, it rang more sincere and annoyed on Madame Malfoy's face than on any other. A promising sign.

"Primrose, my Lord." Narcissa spoke quietly, the barest hint of sheepishness working her mouth.

"Ah." He paused at the window, looking outward, taking a moment to appreciate his new holding: The Ministry. He utterly amused that Lucius's wife delivered more in a night than her spouse had in years. Though from the looks of it, a divorce might be in order. In the window, the starlight offered him their reflection. Narcissa flushed into (another of) Bella's stolen embrace. He'd never seen his warrior so enchanted or thieving. But the witch was lovely. And they were like foolish children, eyes only for the other. Not sensing his re-approach, he sighed, understanding Bella's role in the soiled and…spent man. He wrinkled his nose.

"Bellatrix, when I said create a diversion, that wasn't _quite_ what I meant."

Voice barely a foot from them, his newest hire surprised and jumped away from lips; she stumbled into the bookshelf, knocking an entire shelf's worth onto floor. The witch colored, not being this clumsy since adolescence. Cissa kept her eyes to the floor, much as she always had with men and her sister and rooms.

"You said my brand of fuckery was welcomed." Bellatrix smirked coquettishly, attempting to soothe her sister with a whimsical hip check.

"So I did." He wondered, as Narcissa's nostrils flared and decided to test theory. He and his protégé had always been a bit more physical than others were comfortable with. And if she were to be his Queen, they needed to reiterate and defined their relationship for Narcissa. He turned to the blonde.

"My Lord." Bellatrix imparted, eyes flickering to her sister, knowing the woman was…fragile on trust.

He ignored his favorite, in lieu of hers.

"Flowers, you say." His tone amused, liking her quiet rage. It would suit Bella's clanging self well.

Narcissa snapped up at that, meeting his eyes. She surprised when he bowed ever so slightly and kissed her hand. Though customary for a lord, blue eyes were utterly disarmed and flummoxed, having no protocol for…this charm. Her impish sister merely smiled and twirled her wand, tickled by their courting ritual.

"Flowers," Cissa choked out, inanely. The blonde expected his hand to leave. It didn't.

And then he was in her mind. If surprised by her vengeful wish, he didn't mention, though she thought his eyes twinkled in anticipation. "As you wish, Madame Black," knowing only Bellatrix would understand the importance of the name slip. To her he imparted, "Eleven sharp. And do dispose of…_that_." His wrist bent toward the muffled screaming in chair. "Nagini is rather sick of rats." Scrimgeour whimpered and the smell of piss wrinkled the air.

And then the Dark Lord was gone, leaving each sister with puzzled pieces.

Narcissa wide-eyed and fumbled.

And Bella pondering the best way to draw and quarter snake food.

* * *

**Author's Note II:** R &amp; R, dearies.

(Credits: _Anna Nalick – _Breathe (2AM))


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